Frontier daughter, and a rebel, forever
by NCR Ranger
Summary: Out near the edges of the galaxy, the colonized worlds of the Frontier are full of the proud, hardworking, and most of all, the free. Those who value independence, and sovereignty above all else. But, the voracious might of the IMC is coming to claim that freedom for itself, and when it does, many will be caught in its path. Including the children of Vardonna 6
1. Chapter 1

9:45 am, local time

Frontier world Vardonna 6.

Skylar village

* * *

On Vardonna 6, the rain was anything but normal.

Instead of falling in a constant barrage of drops, the water came down in much smaller ones, as more of a mist, or a spray. It didn't feel like standing under a showerhead, as it usually was with rain. You couldn't really spot the drops themselves falling. They more resembled falling fog, and they didn't make the distinctive pattering noise that rain was supposed to when they landed on hardened surfaces.

Instead, it felt more akin to getting sprayed from above. It fell so finely, that it took more than twice as long as normal rain to form pools, or collect into puddles. Even when it did finally did seem to soak gradually into the ground, it also lightly coated anything and everything with a thin layer of liquid that ran off easily, forming countless little rivers and streams. Best of all, it wasn't cold, or chilling, but soothingly cool.

It wasn't well understood why the rain on this world had those odd characteristics, or exactly how they worked. That may have been due to that there weren't many weather research stations established planet-side, but there was more to it that just lack of expertise and facilities:

The denizens of Vardonna 6- animals and humans alike- had all grown up with this bizarre mist-rain. It was a piece of their very psyche, dating back through generations upon one another.

Critters of all sizes habitually automatically came out of their dens and hideouts to drink from where the mist-rain filled up into ponds, sometimes migrating miles from their homes through the tightly packed semi tropical forests, bisected by narrow little arroyos that covered most of the planet, to reach the temporary watering holes. Meanwhile, in the sprawling openness of the plains regions dotted among the trees, where the farmers and homesteaders who made up the bulk of Vardonna 6's settlers lived, men and women clad in tarpaulin ponchos came out to check the irrigation pipes and chutes that ferried collected water onto their crops.

Mist-rain or shine, they had work to do.

It was the same all over the Frontier: Folks carved out a life by their own hands, as they had from the earliest days of colonization out here. Most of the settled worlds weren't industrialized yet, and homegrown agriculture still was what most lived by. It usually wasn't easy-on most days, it was anything but-, yet, they were proud of it.

They were their own masters, taking orders from nobody, and managing their own land.

As the adults set about tending to their livelihood, their children had work of their own.

Dodge ball

* * *

There was no room for anyone with no backbone in dodge ball.

The local spirit of " work as hard as you play " didn't show much more clearly than in how the youths of Vardonna played this sport. From at least 9, it was most kids' favorite pastime, spending their free hours organizing impromptu games anywhere where there was enough space, and the ground was flat and firm enough. Out in the streets, empty lots, and backyards were all turned into their playing fields, regularly doused by the mist-rain, and often slick with mud.

On said fields, matches were intense, often close called, and always with an argument or two. There weren't always adults around to keep things civil, as most of them had their work to attend to. Of course, the more responsible kids made sure to tell their parents where they were headed, which would make sure there was some form of a referee, but that wasn't _always_ the case.

Such as, right now. A :

" You've been hit ! You're _out_ ! "

A redheaded girl, with scattered freckles across her face and a scar on her chin pointed accusingly at a brunette with eyes of the same color, and about an inch shorter. The dodgeball in question sat on the wet ground, just beside her. Exactly where it should be if it _had_ hit home.

Therein was the argument.

" I saw that one _hit_ you ! Dead on ! ", the redhead insisted, punctuating it with a jab of said finger.

The brunette, though, didn't flinch, or even take a step forward. Instead, she defiantly stayed put.

And, this was where having someone to chair this match would've come in very handy.

" Just a graze. That's all you got on me. I'd be sure otherwise. "

Her coolly casual repose certainly didn't do anything to calm thing down ( though, leaving the field in the first place is probbably the only thing that woudl've done that ). Regardless, within seconds, players on both sides raised a clamor of clashing opinions, moving to the support of both players.

" No, you just hit her shoulder ! "

" Yeah, that kind of hot doesn't count. "

" You're serious ! She's out ! We can't play like this ! "

As they shouted, the redheaded girl decided to try taking control of the situation. She took a step forward, with both fists clenched.

" Woah, Katlin ! ", cried a nearby player, this one a boy with a mop of dark hair. " Hey, relax. She knows she's out, we'll just-"

"Not a chance ! "

Katlin shrugged off his attempt to slow her down, and stomped forward toward the brunette.

Maybe she planned to get psychical. Maybe she just intend to intimidate. Or, maybe she'd planned the latter first.

But, she didn't get to either way.

Out of nowhere, and without any hesitation, the brunette reached over and lifted the ball.

If Katlin wasn't angry before, she was for certain now. " HEY ! Put that down, and get _out_ of here ! "

As if that had been some sort of signal, though, the brunette _threw_ the ball at her. Hard.

It nailed Katlin on the chin, snapping her head back. With a surprisingly loud cry of pain, and shock, Katlin staggered off balance, then fell to both knees. The heavy dodge ball landed with a squelchy wet ' thump ' nearby.

Nobody said anything.

It had caught _everyone_ off guard. Nobody said anything. Nobody moved, as the mist rain kept falling around them. Katlin didn't get up, either.

Then, slowly, the mop haired boy turned to face the brunette, who stood now with her fists clenched, and her stance defiant as ever.

" You've done it now, Sarah. "


	2. Target llocked: IMC

**" There is more power in unity, than division "**

 **\- Emanuel Cleaver**

* * *

" Sarah Dixon Briggs, how many times have I told you not to play dodgeball with Katlin ?! "

Hands on hips, Tamara Briggs looked down at her fresh-off-her-latest-fistfight daughter, standing in her rain and mud dirtied clothes in the foyer of the Briggs' homestead bungalow.

Said daughter , even in the face of her mother's rhetorical question ( one of the oldest parenting tactics known to humanity ), still was pretty defiant though, keeping her arms crossed, and her gaze fixed on her mother's noticably ( and probbably understandably ) exhasperated face. Muddy water had formed pools behind her walking boots, leading from the door to where she was now, but for the moment, Tamara wasn't concerned with the mess. It was much easier to clean that problem up that up than the ones Sarah kept making.

" Sarah. How. Many. Times ? "

Tamara wasn't angry, not yet, but Sarah's stubborn refusal to answer ( and especially as she already knew the answer ) was testing Tamara's temper, as Sarah was seemingly fond of doing. Virtually every day, it seemed. If it wasn't getting into fistfights with the other local children, it was pushing the limits of her nightly curfew to ride her bike with her little clique of like minded comrades ( made up of the few children who hadn't gotten into fights with her ) up and down the length of the main irragation canal that fed water to Skylar. Or, it was wandering off to the edge of the homestead's land to watch the lumbering silhouttes of the Argi-Corp's Titans as they diligently maintained the welding on the primary water resevoir tanks, the towering, pillar-esque structures that loomed like sentinels over the village.

One way or another, Sarah was wildcard. More to the point, she seemed to _like_ it.

 _Too much a rebel. Where does she get it from ?!_

" I haven't been counting. ", Sarah finally, and somewhat bluntly, retorted. " Not sure I can count that high. "

Her rather insolent response should've made Tamara a lot more frustrated than how she was, and a few years ago, she _would've_ , too. But, these days, somehow, instead of that, she couldn't shake off a steadily increasing feeling of weariness. Yes, she loved her daughter to heaven and back- nothing could diminish that, ever- , but there was no getting around that Sarah was really getting into the " rebellion adolescent " phase. Which, actually, didn't seem like a ' phase ' so much as it seemed like was here to stay.

Unfortunately.

" She was behind the whole thing ", the aforementioned rebel insisted. " Its always her fault; Katlin thinks she can push me around, and every time, I have to prove her wrong. This is on her. Well, _more_ on her than me. "

As was with most post- fight explanations from Sarah, it was _technically_ correct: that girl Katlin was a troublemaker, no doubt. Tamara had heard Talk from other parents that she was aggressive at argumentative, to a T.

On the other hand, so was Sarah, which was the other half of the issue, and one that the rebel didn't seem to be paying attentin to. Or, caring about.

 _This girl. She is certainly turning out to be something._

" Sarah ", Tamara tried not to let her tone shift to lecturing, as she knew that would make Sarah deliberatley try to ignore her. " I know you're not the one who triggers these fights, but you still need to avoid her "

" Its not like I tried to get into it with her ", Sarah insisted. " Why should I have to avoid Katlin for that ? "

So headstrong, she was. Tamra knew for certain now that she got it all from her father, for Tamra herself was a rational, level headed person, who tried to think methodically, and take things from a ' big picture ' perspective .

It seemed, however, that Sarah had yet to learn that vital life lesson. Not to heart, anyway.

Restraining a sigh, Tamara took the gangly limbed rebel by the shoulder, and pulled over to the row of chairs lining the kitchen counter

" Sit ", she instructed firmly.

Still not looking pleased at all about this, Sarah nevertheless did so, biting her lip out of that quiet resentment.

Taking a seat beside her, Tamra took another approach to getting her message across.

" Sarah, where do we live ? ", she asked her.

Sarah huffed by way of response.

Tamara didn't say anything, not giving Sarah the satisfaction of a scolding line. Instead, she waited it out.

It took a while, but after another moment:

" The Frontier ", came the grunted admission.

" And, who makes this place their home ? "

Another pause, but shorter than the first one.

" Us. Folks like _us._ Living free, by our own rules. "

" Exactly. " Tamra told her. " And who wants to take that away from us ? "

At that, Sarah's expression changed, albeit subtly. There was still hints of annoyance, and frustration, but it was slowly beginning to shift to something else.

Focus. Taking that frustration, and pointing it somewhere:

" The IMC. The ones who wear the white armor, and drive the white Titans. I know what they've been up to. I've been learning about them. "

" Trying to take everything from us. "

Tamara nodded. Sarah didn't need much prompting; she knew who the IMC was. She'd done her own homework, so to speak. About the land appropriations ( thefts ) the Corporation had ruthlessly dropped on homesteaders on other worlds, running the locals off said land at bayonet point. About their boarding actions on independent freighters plying the shipping lanes, confiscating their loads, and either conscripting their crews, or leaving them with nothing, or just point blank gunning them down if they offered a word of protest.

She knew they were the enemy of those who called the Frontier home. The IMC had already affected her home here. Supply runs to the world, once a flow, had fallen to a trickle as the boarding actions rose, day by day. Displaced settlers who had their land pilfered limped their way to anywhere they could reach, including here, on Vardonna itself. They were arriving in steadily increasing numbers, and many of the bigger settlements on-planet were running out of room, supplies, and power to support them all.

Who wouldn't get a fire burning in them from all that ? Sarah, Tamara proudly noted, was no exception.

But, she still needed control.

" They get under my skin ", Sarah informed, kicking aside a cap that had fallen onto the floor nearby a while ago, watching it skid away. " I can't stand them, and what they're doing out there. Its not right. "

" You're correct, Sarah, you definitely are. But, if they're the ones who're actually hurting us, then should we try to get along among ourselves better ? "

" IMC _is_ a bigger problem today than tomorrow, and that will keep getting worse. But, if we're going to make a difference, we need to direct how angry we are. "

She'd hit the nail on the head.

Sarah blinked for a bit, thinking about what had been said.

" Oh "

She realized Tamara was right: she'd been letting her resentment at one enemy, invent others right here at home, where they shouldn't be.

It seemed a bit obvious now. Sarah had actually wondered why these fights with the other, especially Kaitlin, happened so often. She knew she was angry, she knew about the IMC's encroachment, and, well-

That had been fuel on the fire whenever things got tense between her and Kaitlin. The other girl had always seemed just as angry as Sarah, now that she thought of it, whenever they came to blows.

Sarah wasn't brimming with rage all day, of course. But in the quiet moments, when she had time to think, or when something got her adrenaline up, like playing Vardonnan dodge ball, her inner fire just heated up. Different sources of anger, and they tended to mix

Well, now it was a little easier to understand.

" Do you want me to apologize to her, then ? "

It was a sensible question, and Tamara knew that, technically, she _should_ tell Sarah to do so.

But, _telling_ someone to apologize isn't a solution.

" Mend bridges, next you meet her ", Tamara advised. " One of you has to reach out first, otherwise this won't get any better. "

" Its just, I keep getting angry. ", Sarah confessed. " She's always been in the way, but, well, maybe she's just as angry. Maybe, you're saying, we're all turned around, at who we should be angry _at_ "

" There you go ! "

Tamara put a hand in Sarah's shoulder length brownie shaded hair, and gently straightened out a few kinks, to a muted ' _ow_ ' from Sarah.

" Ah ! Ok, ok. I think I know, now "

Truth be told, Sarah _did_ think she did. The answer and been in front of her for a while; now she finally had it.

" You're be going far, you know, if you can learn what it means to be part of a group. Part of a community, not just living in it. "

" And who knows: you could very well end up a leader. "


	3. Some things are worth fighting for

The lumbering march of the Agri-Corps Titan resembled that of something from a Jurassic world.

Methodically slow, but not crawling, imposingly heavy, but not weighted down. More than anything, it seemed like a dinosaur, in that it was big in stature: looming over 25 ft. over the sandy, hard packed unpaved road it was trekking along, running through the center of Skylar village.. Every step, each with a throaty, rumbling _thmm_ , gouged out a print inches deep into the soil.

It wasn't quiet, either. Well oiled servos, hidden behind meshing hull plates, nonetheless whined and ground as they worked, propelling the Titan's legs, balancing its considerable mass and weight. Titans, even the ones not armored and armed for combat, were certainly not _light;_ they were as far from that as could be. Indeed, the Titans built for the purposes that the one in question were fulfilling, were still solidly built, and robust to a fault.

It had to be: As proud as the denizens of the Frontier were in their ability and tradition of harvesting their crops- primarily quinoa, farro, carrots, and Brussels sprouts- there was no denying that Titans could do the same job, but at a far superior rate, and much larger amounts. Thus, the pilots of the Titans of the Agri Corps found themselves hard at work whenever it was time to harvest.

It didn't matter how hard it was raining, or if there was lightning coming down, or a hailstorm bombardment; crops were essential to Frontier life, and in weather like that, Titans were often the only way to quickly get all the produce harvested before it was ruined. On days when the crops were ready, columns of Titans could be seen marching from the fields back to their respective towns, massive metal arms hefting storage bins brimming with produce, heading to deposit their loads at the the storage and distribution warehouses.

Year after year, for many, many of them, had this continued. The Frontier thrived on caring for itself, for supporting itself, and it did so with alarity and steadfastness, with the diligence and contributions of its Titans playing more than a small role.

The Titan making its way through ' downtown ' Skylar ( if a village could be said to even have a downtown ) had just come back from fulfilling such a role. Vardonna's latest mist rain shower had finally tapered off, and the last of the village's harvested crops- quinoa, in this case- had successfully been fully transported to where it needed to be, freeing up the Titan pilots to head home for the day, and enjoy some well earned rest. The small, winding streets of the village center were now frequently traversed by these ( mechanical ) beasts of burden, careful to keep the center of the roads, even though it wasn't really a real danger of them stepping on the townsfolk; everyone here had grown up with Titans anyway, facet of life on the Frontier as they were.

Still, that was beside the point, obviously.

AG-4772, the Titan in question, had a good pilot anyway: Elijah Briggs, one of the longest working pilots of the Agri-corps. The goatee sporting, square rimed cap rimmed farmer deftly tweaked the controls, all by muscle memory from years in the saddle, maneuvering through the streets as he headed back to the Briggs home, eager to spend the last few hours of the day with his Tamara, and Sarah.

Despite having a Titan do the actual psychical work of getting the crops out of the ground and carrying them into town, it still needed a pilot to control it, and hours a day operation a machine the size of a Titan was still enough to make you look forward to relaxing after a long day of it. Which, for Elijah, included a nice hot dinner of ( which itself boiled sprouts ), and an evening along with just them, and nobody else.

His rig ( though, of course, nobody _ever_ called their Titan a rig ) had its designation prominently displayed over the slightly cramped, but still fairly comfortable cockpit, which happened to have a hotpot installed in it, perfect for a good drink while on the job, with the symbol of the Agri corps- a scythe and pitchfork crossed behind a shield, with a bundle of grain in the center- across and down the right from it, both of them showing up clearly against the Titan's dark red metal body.

He skillfully drove his Titan along, receiving waves and called acknowledgments from locals, and returning them all through the clear glass cockpit windows. As Skylar wasn't exactly a thriving metropolis, he tended to recognize most of those he saw; other pilots who'd gotten off work earlier, warehouse loading dockworkers, and members of the local security guard force.

All familiar faces-

 _Wait a moment_

 _Sarah ? !  
_

Of all the places to run into them, there she was ! Right out there, down the street from him, walking his way !

And, it seemed she'd spotted him as well. Sarah had already pulled away from the small throng of pedestrians, launching into a run toward the Titan, dodging around the rest of the foot traffic in her way.

She stood out to him, not just because she was his own flesh and blood, but also because of that blood red bandanna she was wearing. It was a bit of a tradition among Vardonna's girls, something they began wearing once they reached adolescence ( and thus, the age where they became unmanageable and unruly ).

The point of the bandannas, and why they were red, was to stand for the love Vardonna's women had for looking after their homes and land, while their men were out to work, and earn the clan's livelihood. It also stood for the blood they were willing to shed, to protect and defend said homes, and loved ones, if they were ever threatened.

 _Not really a girl anymore. She's growing up._

 _Has, actually. She's just about there._

Elijah remembered the day Sarah had received her bandanna; For a moment, he headed down memory lane.

* * *

 _Sarah had been beset by sleeplessness, having stayed awake through the bulk of the previous night due to excitement. That was outweighed, though, by how proud and joyful she was as well, walking down the hardwood flight of mildly creaking stairs, into the Briggs household's living room on a Saturday morning, to a loud and warm welcome from the members of her extended family- grandparents, several uncles and aunts, and even a few cousins-all in enthusiastic attendance._

 _Them, and others dear and close to the Briggs._

 _Katlin Mesura, the fiery local redhead dodgeball champion, who'd once been Sarah's most bitter rival, and frequent fisticuffs opponent, now stood in the middle of that group, smiling and laughing right along with had Sarah had come quite ways, from constantly getting into arguments, and just as often fights, to bonding over their shared love of traditional Vardonnan and Frontier ideals, abandoning their old bitterness in favor of a new alliance._

 _This was the kind of person Elijah and Tamara had helped Sarah to become: Someone who did not just get along with others, but who had them speaking well of her when she was not around them, and who thought highly enough of her to be preesnt, at a moment like this in her life._

 _It was amid this close knit crowd, several of whom held cameras to record the moment, that Elijah had stood beside his wife, both of them brimming with delight, as the rite of passage unfolded._

 _The girl of the hour, his Sarah, stood tall as Elijah quieted everyone down with both palms raised in the universal gesture for that. Obligingly, everyone fell silent._

 _Turning to his Sarah, he approached her, and looked her up and down, appraising how she was exhibiting all the confidence, and poise, of a woman now. Not a girl, not as they considered her to be.  
_

 _She could not be more ready, and he could be more proud of her._

 _He put one of his palms on his chest, and she did the same._

 _" Sarah Dixon Briggs, are you prepared ? ", he asked, though not a soul in the room doubted it._

 _" I am "_

 _Who could doubt her conviction in that response ? Again, nobody Still-  
_

 _" Then, we shall begin "_

 _A hush fell over the room._

 _" My native land , my homeworld "_

 _" My native land, my homeworld ", she repeated, voice trembling only slightly, as she repeated after him._

 _" My household, my clan "_

 _" My household, my clan "_

 _" Our independence, and culture "_

 _" Our independence, and culture "_

 _" Them, I will defend "  
_

 _" Them, I will defend "_

 _" Amen "_

 _" Amen "_

 _The assembled crowed echoed the final world._

 _The quiet, solemn attitude persisted, as Tamara gracefully moved forward for the next step._

 _Moving around behind Sarah, she proceeded to affix the coveted red bandanna around her head, gently wrapping it around completely, before firmly knotting it at the back. Elijah could've sworn that the second that happened, Sarah's already standing-impeccably-still-with-joy stance, became even more so._

 _Dabbing emotional tears, she rejoined Elijah's side, and Sarah stood before them, every inch the Vardonnan lady._

 _There was just one step left now._

 _The last one, to affirm to all who she now was._

 _" Sarah Dixon Briggs ", Elijah proclaimed, pitching his voice up, so all could hear him with absolute clarity even more than before, and to hide his own emotion at the significance of this moment_

 _" From this day on, you will be acknowledged, and treated as, an adult. Know that every decision, every call you make, of your own volition, must be owned by you and you alone. The pledge you have taken is on your shoulders to uphold, as it is on all of us. Treasure our shared trust. Treasure, those who would die to defend you, as you may need to do the same for them. Be faithful and true to the spouse you take, and always remain relentless in your pursuit of knowledge "  
_

 _" I shall do as I have promised, to the best of my ability. I shall value and hold close, these cherished values. ", Sarah,at the peak of pride, avowed  
_

 _With that, the transformation to adulthood was completed._

 _" Hurrah for Miss Sarah Briggs ! "_

 _At once, everyone launched into cheering, chanting her name, and amassing around her to embrace this newest member of the adult class. Sarah had grown up, and now could and would take her place among the women, and their men, of Vardonna_

 _And, the Frontier at large_

 _As the celebration began, Elijah and Tamra would've traded all they owned, to stay in this moment forever._

* * *

It was just a shame, that you couldn't go back in time, and relive days like that. Of couse, said timetraveling could also have in moments you didn't want to be in, so perhaps it was more of a double edged sword .

 _Ah well_ , Elijah thought, as Sarah reached his Titan. The present mattered too, and it was just as important, wasn't it ?

He opened the canopy. With a low _chssss_ , it flipped up, and he could look even more clearly upon who was standing in front of him.

" You're blocking my path ", he admonished, with a smirk.

" Well, you were coming down mine "

Her own smirk reminded Elijah of his own.

' _Always did think that's where she got it from_ '

" Bit of an impasse, aren't we, eh ? ", he joked. " Maybe, you could tell me where you're headed ? I could give you a lift. Solve two issues at once ".

"Well, I would say ' Sure ! ', and hop in, but I am on my way to Chief MacGram s. "

Ah, right.

If Elijah was one of the most longtime Titan pilots around, then ol' Chief MacGram, a tough Scotsman , was the master. He ran a training regimen to teach prospective Titan pilots, out on the edges of the village. It was demanding, and attention-devouring, but fair and just, place, that only took those who both showed real aptitude, and drive.

Sarah had shown both, and it could be confidently said she was a rising star.

" Ahh, of course. Its about when your next class there is beginning, isn't it ? Well, I can't keep you from it, can I ? "

Sarah pretended to think.

" Hmm. No, But, now what I think of it, I wonder what that Titan of yours will look like with a new designation. Perhaps, FS-1041. "

 _Such a schemer. But, I love that about you_

With a head-back laugh, Elijah replied

" Oh, be on your way, before I get there first and tell him you were late on purpose. "

" That's low ! " , Sarah protested, but then she grinned fiercely.

" Won't matter though. You can't outrun me in that ! Bye !"

She took off, racing past the Titan and on down the street.

Elijah let himself laugh a little more, then sealed the canopy

 _We lead a good life out here. Amen to that_

He engaged the drives, and continued on his way.


	4. Empire's reach

It was a quiet job, working Outpost Sensor Station 15.

Not that the station itself was a lonely, quiet place, though: it was sizable, roughly the mass of a light frigate, and staffed round the clock by a crew of at least 140, it was bustling ( in most of its sections ) with activity throughout most of each of its day/night cycles.

After all, OSS 15 was more than just what it looked like: a orange, floating cylinder with a forest of sensor towers rising out of its ' top ': it had role to play, as it was also a waystation for the outbound/ inbound space traffic that ran through Vardonna. Ships on approach to the planet would contacted ( or be contacted by ) the station, identifying themselves, and clarifying thier intent and cargo, while those outbound would stop at one of station's several docking conduits to top off thier fuel reserves, and take on a few extra supplies, before continuing on thier way.

In many ways, they were a train depot, or a busy container port, albiet one set in space.

As it was, they carried out very important work in the field of spacefaring, these well equipped and manned stations. It wasn't very exciting or thrilling work, not at all, but that didn't matter much to those who called OSS 15 home and a workplace: They provided an importart service to the Frontier spacefarers, the support network they needed to mantain their trade and livelehoods. The locals of the Froniter were nothing if those who didn't and couldn't look after themselves, and their own.

All the more cause for them to form a formal alliance against the IMC, before that cherished freedom and liberty was taken from them.

Techncian 3rd Class Roben Tavish was one example of that sentiment.

" Did you hear ? ", he asked, turning to the tech standing a few yards away, along the length of one of the docking arms' acsess tunnels. They were waiting on a somewhat battered looking bulk ' Brick ' freighter, the ' _Discount Hauler_ ' , to finish its methodically slow- but steady- approach to the station. Once it reached them, it would be their job to link the arms' supply conduits to the freighter's hull, refilling its fuel reserves, and helping it to discharge its garbage.

The other tech, a bearded Polish- decended man named Tavolic Kopalski, shurgged slighting, glancing over at Roben.

" About what ? ", he replied, with a strong eastern european accent. " Always so _vague_ , Roben, tsh. "

It was a blase response, and the annoyed Roben was reminded that not everyone was as up to date on current events as he was. He'd promised himself, from as soon as when these troubles with the IMC had begun, to always be aware of what was going on past the borders of Vardonna. It wasn't that he was some sort of rebellios leader, per se, but if the settled worlds were going to be able to form any kind of defense against the IMC, they'd need to stay connected. And aware.

Well, you had to begin somewhere.

" Can't believe you haven't heard ! ". Roben huffed, and shook his head. " It happened just _1_ standard day ago ! Over Troy, at one of its OSS'. "

" Mm ". Tavolic supplied, by way of an answer. He was like that most days.

Undettered, Roben persisted with his recounting of the past events

" They detected approaching jump signatures, holding a pattern that wasn't what a convoy would use. Everyone on the station- 09, I think it was- got suspicious, and rightly so, becasue that's when the ships themselves appeared- and they weren't freighters, or haulers.

They were IMC ! "

Roben was building to it, as he usually did when discussing anything to do with colonial news, and especially if it revolved around the IMC. Tavolic was familar with this, and knew better than to say anything right now.

Not that he didn't agree with them, but it was more of a background subject, as he saw it. The IMC _was_ a threat, yes, but not to here. Not to Vardonna

Not yet, though, as Roben was getting to.

" Educated guess: Something bad happened to the folks of OSS 09. "

" Thanks for slicing it so short ", Roben clenched a fist, but he had to admit; that was true. " Yes, those IMC ships ordered- yes, _ordered_ , not even asked or requested- OSS 09 to hand over all their stocked supplies right then and there. OSS 09 demanded to know on whose authority they were doing this on, and they're response, was to send a _boarding_ team ! Half a dozen of OSS 09's personnel were gunned down, just for not letting themselves be shoved out of the way. "

Roben's tone was bitter now, even more so than when he'd began.

" Like the Boston Massacre, which most of us- shamefully, I say- don't know about. Point is: They were _cut down_ ".

He shook his head again, the sheer appalling nature of it all still a bit much to process. What did the IMC think it was doing with such actions ? The colonies were better linked than they thought; word would and was spreading among them about everything the IMC was doing. _This_ , this newest crime commited by them, would be another spark on top of an already voltile tinderbox.

Tavolic had to understand that. There was no way even he could deny it, someone who'd kept away from current events as he was.

" Hold there a moment. You say, they just _forced_ their way in ? ", Tavolic wasn't as laidback as he'd been before.

The Pole certainly sounded, Roben could swear, _disbeleliving_ with his query. A good sign.

" 4 minutes to contact. ", the PA system proclaimed. " Standby, arm team "

Right. The call to get to work. Still-

" Yes ", Roben pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against. Tavolic crumpled the drink can he'd had, which was down to its last dregs, tossing into a nearby bin.

" Hey, Roben. _Is_ it true ? How are you sure ? "

They'd set off a a quick pace down the corridor, heading for the consoles that controlled the arm's linkages. Tavolic's previously offhand attitude now replaced by one of of low key, but palpable, surprise and shock.

Like a Frontier patriot should be.

" Footage was streamed from the station's security's cameras. The IMC wanted them offline beforehand, but they weren't. They got it all on record, and they brodcast it. On backwater channels; the IMC got better SigInt than we do, its one of the best and only ways to get around it ".

They reached the consoles, and took post. On the displays, they saw the freighter was just entering the final approach envelope, a minute or so away from docking. It was time for them to earn their keep.

" Jeez, they just did that ?!, Tavolic muttered. " You have to show me that footage. This is all getting out of hand. "

He hit the intercom button on the console, to adress the main control room, several decks above.

" Michelle, its Kopalski. Got a question, off the record, not work related. "

He glanced over at Roben, who nodded.

 _Go on. Ask them. You should know  
_

" Hmmm. That's a bit vague, Mr Kopalski, and also not _really_ an ideal time. Still, it can't hurt, long as you're quick. What exactly is it ? ", replied the bridge controller, with a female voice with an Australian accent.

Michelle McCamme. She was always fun to speak with, even during work, and even more fun to spend free hours with afterwards. Occasionally, she was even found jogging through the long corridors that ran around the staion's circumfurence.

At the moment, though, there wasn't room for that. Unfortunetly.

" Its- ", Tavolic hesitated, not sure how to phrase it.

" Hate to rush you, Tav, but _Discount Hauler_ 's 30 seconds out. Going to have to sign off real soon. "

Roben helpfully formed the gesture for ' hurry it up '. Tavolic glared at him, but knew he was right.

" Alright, yes. What I was asking was: Do you know anything about the attack on OSS 09 ? At _Troy_ , I think that's where it is. "

There was silence on the other end of the line, palpably tense and surprised.

" Oh. Oh no, you heard about Troy ? ". Michelle's usually cheerfull tone now had a bitterly upset note to it. Not overly so, but it was there.

She was on that side, who valued freedom. If Tavolic, the one who'd been content to just take these days as they came, kept asking like this, he'd be one of them.

Perhaps, he already was, and wasn't fully aware.

" Roben told me. You know I don't pay attention to the news. Just more IMC bullying, but this ? That's a step up. I want to know if you know. "

" Yes. ", came the reply, soft, and disturbed now. " I'll send you a clip of it to your DataPad. You need to see it. More all over the Frontier are as well. Things like this keep happening, and there'll be a powder keg ".

" Oi, Michelle. Stay alert. Contact is immenent. Chat later ", called someone else on the bridge, having overheard.

 _Agh_.

" Right, right. "

" Aw. Got to run, boys, but check your DP for what I sent. You have to see for yourself. "

The comms clicked off. Tavolic bit his lower lip, and stared at the now silent comms icon on the console.

Roben didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

" Arm team, they're here. Begin the sequence ".

Work, as always, came calling, and they dutifully attended to it. Yet, both were distracted.

One of them had known, and hadn't been able to shake it off his mind. The other had just found out, and while he wasn't fully commited to the overall' cause ' ( if it could be called that ) of the Frontier settlers, he was coming around rather quickly, especially with said new events.

Citizen soliders, they were all becoming. The techs of the arm teams worked away, tapping their consoles, as they had over so many work shifts. That was all routine, and normal. But, more and more these days, and especially perhaps now, it seemed to both of them that the soverignty of the Frontier wasn' as untouched as they thought it was.

If it was to stay that way, perhaps- no, for certain- something would have to be done, by those who lived there.

* * *

Bridge of _Discount Hauler_

" Another succesful run, eh, Daisy ? "

Captain Greg MacHalvers, a freckled Scotsman, casually issued that proclamation, leaning back into his cushioned ( but not too much, this wasn't a cruise liner ) commander's chair, tapping some fingers on its well worn, but unpatched arms.

The latter part was quite important, as the ' _Hauler_ ' had been around the block more than a few times. An ' Oxen ' class freighter, she'd been one of the first of the new bulk- grade freighters put into action less than 40 years ago. That may not have been a long while in the grand scheme of things as far as how long the Frontier was concered, but for a freighter class, it was.

However, all that didn't show on this ship.

 _Hauler_ was about half that age, and had been well cared for by her Scot of a captain- always maintained, serviced, and upkept at regular intervals. He wasn't keen to have her fall into disrepair.

And he was even less so to have that happen to her bridge. He did, after all, spend most of a daily shift here.

Daisy, his competent second, and also wife, was one to let him know he was doing right by the ship.

" If by ' sucsessful ', she stated standing off to his right , half jokingly, with a Manchester accent, " You mean ' arrived with our tanks down to 15%, then yes. That's true. "

" Agh, always a stickler ", Greg chided, though he knew she was just teasing. Daisy always knew how to balance work and play. It was really quite impressive, and one of the things he liked best.

She was amazing, as just one of those ways.

" Well- "

Greg waved out the bridge windows- cleared of their FTL metal sheilds- toward the metal canyon of the station's docking berth, with its arms on either side, feeding into them what they needed.

" That's rising to 100 as we speak. Fit to ride the stars once again. "

" As soon as we finish our little drop off. You'll want to sightsee, and I'd be hopeless to stop you. "

Aha, she was right again. That happened rather often.

Daisy came a bit closer, to kiss the side of his face.

" But yes, I admit- that _was_ a good run. "

Greg smiled. It was good to be king.

" Mmm hmm. You'd better bel-

' _Bweep. Bweep. Bweep_ ! '

The abrupt, shrill chime of the FTL arrival alarm slayed the moment with ruthless lethality.

" What is this ?! "

Now, Greg was a _little_ miffed. Just a little, He wasn't one who liked having an unwanted alert ruin a moment like this.

And, evidently, was Daisy. If that alarm wasn't something that had be on always-

" Wonderful sync ", she huffed. " What sort just _barges_ into our lane like this !? Jumps are _calculated_ , after all. "

Reluctantly, she moved over to her console, mounted over her own chair, adjescent to his. Grumbling, Greg checked his own, as the staion contacted them.

" _Discount Hauler_ , this is OSS 15 ! Are you receiving ?! "

" Woah there ! "

The OSS controller sounded, well, _apprehensive_ ? Shocked ?

What ?

" OSS 15, Captain MacHalvers here. What's all the fuss, mate ? "

He wasn't just being casual; aside from the sudden arrival of that other ship, what was there to be nervous about ?

What ?

" Hauler, check your external views ! That new ship-"

" **Gregam** ! "

Daisy only ever called him that, when she was truly angry, or sad, or joyfull.

Or, as she sounded right now, shocked. Proundly shocked.

Greg lept up.

" Daisy ?! "

Turning, he found she'd left her chair, and had opened one of the external armor plates for the bridge windows, giving them a view of the void outside. She was looking out through it.

That shock was all over her face, and when Greg followed her gaze, he saw why.

Outside, having just emerged from FTL-

Was a gleaming white IMC heavy cruiser.


End file.
